


Pour Myself Over Him

by K_iddo



Series: Worthless to One [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (Follows Priceless to Two), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime Husbands, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff, Jealousy (mild), M/M, Mostly porn, Organized Crime, Oswald and Ed are in love and always will be and that's that on that, Romance, Smut, Some Plot, The Riddle Factory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: He’s in that pose; leaning on a cane of his own, one leg crossed over the other, hand on his hat, as the room full of thugs and cutpurses watch enraptured, and Oswald is enraptured too, despite himself, despite knowing Ed at his sweetest and softest. It’s easy for forget that side of him now. He looks like a strange figurine rather than the tangible, warm man that Oswald has in his bed every night when he is still like this.





	Pour Myself Over Him

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't read the first part (you should, it's good, but you can just read this on its own), this is how the canon diverges:
> 
> \- Ed saved Oswald from the water immediately after shooting him.  
> \- Ed was around to foil Sofia before she even got started, so Oswald never went to Arkham the second time and never lost his empire. - Oswald’s still mayor.

It’s not really to his taste, Ed’s live gameshow, he has never seen the sense in making such a performance - literally - of his violence, but Ed gets endless enjoyment out of it, and Oswald can’t sniff at the amount of money it brings in. It had been a vacant underground club for weeks until Ed had brought him the idea of The Riddle Factory, and now, every Sunday night, it is packed wall-to-wall with people who want to see contestants fail to win money and have to spin the grisly wheel. It’s barbaric, really, but Ed does it with such _panache_ that Oswald does not hate it as much as he thought he would.

He’s in that pose; leaning on a cane of his own, one leg crossed over the other, hand on his hat, as the room full of thugs and cutpurses watch enraptured, and Oswald is enraptured too, despite himself, despite knowing Ed at his sweetest and softest. It’s easy for forget that side of him now. He looks like a strange figurine rather than the tangible, warm man that Oswald has in his bed every night when he is still like this.

Oswald watches from the balcony level, seated whilst most others are standing, they are craning to get a look, but they don’t need dividing ropes to know to keep a good few feet away from his personal space. 

Their relationship is probably the most open secret in the underworld, it is clear that they are together much of the time, and there are plenty of whispers that they always go home together, but nothing is said aloud. Oswald suspects most know that the consequences of him hearing about someone speaking of the relationship (if it exists at all) disparagingly would be quite unpleasant. 

So, Oswald gets the best seat in the house when he attends, and everyone knows to keep it empty when he doesn’t.

Ed probably can’t really see him for the lights, but he looks up in his direction after he speaks, and sends a wink to him regardless, knowing that he’ll be there, and it makes Oswald’s blood run a little hot.

_‘Who would have thought? The shy thing I met all that time ago - a showman?’_

A talented showman at that. His hands move in fluid movements as he speaks, elegant and savouring every moment in the spotlight; it is no wonder that Oswald had been so attracted to him when they first met- Ed has fire in his blood, burning under his skin, just like him.

The former gang member contestant is already sweating before the riddle has been asked. It is no surprise at all to Oswald that a bit of logical thinking is the thing that makes thugs like him nervous. He wishes some of those would had mocked and hit him when he first began could participate: there is something endlessly satisfying at seeing some fool being mentally eviscerated before physically. 

“I am heavy forwards, but backwards I am _not_.” He says it as if he has just thought of it, as if it has just been whispered in his ear by whatever trickster god he might pray to, but Oswald already knows the answer, because Ed had come up with it in the shower that morning - he had reworded and practiced it while he brewed coffee.

_‘Ton.’_

Ed knows it makes it more enjoyable when he can sit in the audience, and know the fate of the player before they know it themselves.

The sand of the hourglass is flowing, but Oswald isn’t paying attention, he’s watching Ed and focussed only on how _ridiculously good_ he looks. He still hates the hat, but the emerald green suit fits him pristinely, and Oswald can close his eyes and practically smell the leather of his gloves. 

He sips his whiskey, and watches as the others wait with baited breath for Ed’s thumb to turn. That does not help the hot feeling unfolding in Oswald’s stomach; Ed has his back to the audience, in silhouette, all long limbed and slim. Oswald wishes they were alone together, the stage feels so far away. 

Of course, his thumbs turn down, the wheel is spun, and the contestant will be subjected to fire ants being poured in his trousers. Oswald grimaces in distaste at the raucous laughter of those around him, this is the part he can really do without. Upon attempting to sip he realises that his glass is empty, and decides to make for the bar instead. He never tires of the way the crowd parts for him when he passes through, and how the bartender stops what he’s doing to make his drink.

Oswald slips him a tip, and notices he gets a bright smile and perhaps a slight flush in return, but he isn’t really paying attention. He leans his back against the bar and sips his whiskey.

The crowd is loud, shouting and guffawing as the man whimpers and screams at his punishment. He can hear Ed’s commentary over the speaker system: _‘Such an_ ** _ant_** _iquated form of punishment.’_

He rolls his eyes to himself, but the drinks he’s had over the night are doing their job, and he feels warm all over and a little tingly in his fingertips.

“Uh - Mr Penguin.” The bartender is talking to him, and he turns to face him, eyebrow raised. “Thank you for the tip.” He sounds nervous. “It’s far too generous.”

Had it been? Oswald seemed to slip these little wads of cash to people so often it stopped occurring to him how much it actually _was_ a long time ago.

“Oh, you’re welcome.” He shrugs a little. The man is quite handsome: young, with thick blonde hair brushed away from his face, he seems to have trouble meeting his eye. Oswald is used to that, but he’s getting another vibe off him too.

He still isn’t much used to it, in the greater scheme of his life, people being attracted to him is rather new, but he is well aware of the allure of power and a well-fitted bespoke suit. 

And the young man _is_ definitely attracted to him.

“I - I noticed you come here quite a lot.” He says, and Oswald is almost endeared to the fact he is trying to make conversation with him. Any other day, he would be irritated by the gaul, would wave him off with a scowl and tell him to get back to work, but he’s in a fairly good mood, he has drunk just the right amount and looking forward to the show being over so he can go home with Ed.

“You notice correctly.” He says, and sits himself on the stool. The crowd are starting to disperse, clearly the show is ending and Ed will be stepping into a back room to wipe the sweat off his face away from the lights.

“You’re rather hard to miss.” He says with a small laugh.

_‘Is he making fun of me?’_

Oswald frowns a little, mostly at his own knee-jerk paranoia, and the young man notices.

“Not that - you just…” He clears his throat. “You’re very intriguing. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

Ah, direct flirting now. The young man finally meets his eye and has his fingers resting on the bar, looking sheepish, worrying the inside of his mouth with his teeth. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I can’t stop staring at you when you come in here.” He says, and looks surprised at his own boldness, definitely blushing now.

Oswald has not noticed, but it makes him smile a bit anyway. That tide has turned as the years have passed, when he was younger, it tended to be the older men that were attracted to him, and liked that he was small and obliging.

_‘Now I’m the one to be obliged, how novel.’_

“What’s your name?” Oswald asks; he can’t deny he rather likes inspiring nervousness in good-looking young men, though blondes have never really been his type.

“Andrew, sir.” 

“Well, Andrew, I appreciate your candour, however I-“

“Oswald.” How Ed has managed to sneak up behind him is a mystery, but he feels a delightful chill creep down the back of his neck at the firmness of his voice, and Oswald turns on his seat to find him a few inches behind him. “Good to see you.”

“And you.” He says, keeping his smile suppressed, and stands. “Excellent show if the end was alittle… _Base_.”

Ed is always energised after these things, Oswald can feel it buzzing off him in the way he sets his shoulders and stands a bit closer to him than he should somewhere so public.

“A backhanded compliment from you is a compliment nonetheless.” He bows his head in faux graciousness. “So I’ll take it.” 

And then he looks past Oswald to the bartender standing behind them, who is busying himself with something else.

“I see you’ve managed to keep yourself entertained.” He says lightly, though Oswald can see that observant look in his eye.

“Yes, whiskey is always entertaining.” He says, feigning credulousness. 

“ _Mhm_ , is it the whiskey you were chatting to when I arrived?” Ed leans his arm on the bar beside Oswald, so he is speaking closer to his face. “Or is it that adorable little thing who’s pretending not to look at you right now?”

Oswald cocks his head, and looks up at Ed. “You always say I should be nicer to people. Does that not count when it comes to cute young men?”

“So you think he’s cute…” He says, like he’s mulling on it, with a small cock of his head. 

“You called him an _adorable little thing._ ” Oswald defends. He is fully away that Ed is playing with him, but he can’t help feeling a little defensive, it wasn’t like head had any intention of flirting back. 

“Just testing the waters, seeing if you might have a new type.” 

“As opposed to what? Tall and slim with a flare for the dramatic?” Oswald feels the alcohol wash through him pleasantly, stoking that warmth in his belly. 

“Yes.” Ed’s giving him that look, a lazy smile that just about shows his perfect teeth, slightly hooded eyes. He can see the very real jealousy there, but it’s just a hint, a _pinch_ , he’s exaggerating it… and he’s enjoying the tease much more.

He wants him, and that fact never fails to take Oswald’s breath away. Ed Nygma wants him, _still_.

“No. My tastes haven’t changed.” He glances over at the now ignored bartender, who is making drinks for other patrons and pointedly not looking in their direction. 

“Glad to hear it.” Ed leans forward so he is speaking near Oswald’s ear, something he is clearly doing on on purpose - being quite aware of the sensitivity of his ears. “Because I’d be quite happy to let people stop speculating and know exactly who you belong to.” His breath tingles across the skin.

Oswald feels a hot thrum through his body, and though he gives Ed a warning look, he feels himself stir in his pants; Ed doesn’t usually take such a possessive tone with him. 

“ _Belong to_?” Oswald glances around just to make sure no one is listening, and is glad the music is rather loud now the show has finished. His voice shakes a little but he holds fast. “I could swear _you_ were the one who belonged to me the other night.”

He is endlessly satisfied by the shudder he gets for that, and looks down at his shoes to hide his smile. They appear to be having a friendly conversation, Ed leaning close to be able to hear him, nothing more.

The image that he’s talking about is in both their heads now, of Ed on all fours on their bed and letting Oswald take him with abandon, absolutely begging him not to stop.

“I think you said it many times.” Oswald goes on, and moves even more into the proximity of Ed’s body heat. He wants to hook his leg around his and press them together and kiss that long neck he’s always looking _up_ at.

“Mutual ownership then.” Ed clears his throat and looks Oswald in the eye. 

_‘Yes,’_ Oswald thinks, if he’s being honest with himself, _‘mind, body and soul, endlessly, forever, no one else.’_

“Sounds archaic.” He says instead, with an amused cock of his head. “Vulgar.”

“Hmm,” Ed shouldn’t, but he moves his leg between Oswald’s and bends his knee just enough so that his thigh presses against his crotch, and Oswald feels a shiver rattle through him and heat blossom through his abdomen, “you’re good at vulgar though, aren’t you? When you want to be.”

“Do you want me to be?” Oswald takes his drink in hand to fight the urge to grab hold of Ed. 

This is torture, it’s going to kill him. When Ed nods and takes his lower lip in his teeth for a second, Oswald has to close his eyes, and wills himself not to get _noticeably_ hard in the middle of this club full of people. 

He so desperately wants to taste that lip for himself. 

Clearing his throat, he turns his back to lean against the bar and tries to compose himself into a picture of nonchalance; resting his elbows on the surface behind him and sipping his whiskey, he acts like he isn’t quite aware of Ed still facing him, practically pressing against his arm.

“Your cheeks are pink.” Ed comments, smiling broadly. 

“It’s the alcohol.” Oswald finishes his drink and doesn’t look at him, his voice is rough, betraying him.

“Not just the alcohol, I can tell the difference between your blushes.” Ed says, looking pleased with himself. 

“Oh?” Oswald laughs a bit, looking up at him.

“When it’s alcohol you get it more down your neck and chest.” He glances down past his collar with a raised eyebrow. There is no way he can tell in the low light of the club, but he acts like he has made an assessment anyway.

“When it’s _me_ , it’s all in your cheeks and your ears.” His voice is low enough to rumble through Oswald and make him swell, he can hear his own pulse in his ears.

“You think a lot of yourself. I think playing performer makes your head too big.”

Ed ignores him. “The tip of your cock too,” his voice is barely a whisper now. “Pretty and pink.”

Oswald splutters out a shaky noise into his drink and can feel said cock shift uncomfortably in his trousers.

“Ed…” He says warningly, unconvincingly. 

“What?” He grins down at him, and speaks right against his ear now. “Are you scared someone will hear? I’m not. I’d let you bend me over and fuck me right here in front of everyone if you wanted to.”

“Stop it.” Oswald’s voice is a shaky whisper that begs for more despite anything he says. He wants to kiss him _so_ _badly_ , he wants to rip the buttons off his shirt and lick and kiss his chest and shove his hand down his pants and feel that - 

Ed’s hand is slowly rubbing the top of his back before he realises, and Oswald does all he can not to keen and moan at the contact. It’s too much, someone will notice, not least the blonde bartender behind them who is likely still looking.

_‘What was his name? Arthur? Alex?’_

“Ed - if you don’t -“ Ed’s finger tips stroke the hair at the nape of his neck and then lightly grasp the back of it, and that’s it. 

Ed always accuses Oswald of being a little too quick to be driven by his base emotions, so he _really_ should not be surprised at that the result of his relentless teasing would be Oswald taking his jaw in hand and pulling him down for a hard, insistent, not at all subtle kiss.

He isn’t thinking, not about where he is, or who might see - and apparently Ed isn’t either, because he kisses him back and holds his head in place, even slips his tongue into his mouth for a second just to taste. They’re drawn together like magnets, just for a hot, delightful second, until they snap apart. 

It’s then that the sound of the club starts to rush back, as does the realisation fact that they are very much _not alone._

Oswald swallows and straightens his jacket, his face is glowing now, and he doesn’t glance around to see who’s looking, or pretending not to look. He shouldn’t be kissing _anyone_ in public like this, it’s completely at odds with his image, it makes him seem like some lovesick idiot who can’t keep himself composed.

When he looks up at Ed, he can tell that is is not having the same thought process at all; he looks more like Oswald feels, like he wants to tear him apart like a rare steak.

And then Oswald remembers: ‘ _Oh yes,_ ** _I am_** _a lovesick idiot who can’t keep myself composed.’_ And knows all he cares about is getting home to satisfy the promise of that look Ed is giving him. 

“Shall we g-“

“Yes.” Ed pushes Oswald’s cane into his hand and leads him through the crowd.

*** *** *** 

They’re back at the penthouse, and it’s quick, a little bit rough; sloppy, firm kisses and uncoordinated pulling and grabbing at one another. Ed kicks the door closed behind him as Oswald fumbles for the light over his shoulder and turns it just enough to dimly light the apartment. It’s hard to concentrate on even that when Ed is pushing his jacket off and working on his tie before they’ve even stepped away from the door.

The apartment is vast and open plan, so there’s not too much to trip up on but their own feet as they stumble over to the couch, unwilling to disconnect from the mouth and leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. Oswald’s behind hits the back of the couch, and he shoves his hand into the front of Ed’s open slacks to feel his erection through his underwear. 

_‘God, I’ve been thinking about that all night.’_

“Hm,” Ed hums out a little moan, “Oswald…”

He smiles up at him, satisfied, and removes his hand. They move round the couch, clumsily pulling at each other’s pants, until they’re both finally naked and pressed together as they kiss. Ed’s hands run down his back to grip his ass (he takes any opportunity to) and pull him up against him, Oswald’s cock rubs against Ed’s when he does, and he whimpers at the shot of pleasure that goes through him. 

“Kneel on the couch.” Ed murmurs against his lips, releasing him, and Oswald immediately obliges, cloudy headed, digging his fingers into the leather cushion and trembling in anticipation. He can only hear Ed shifting around behind him as he tries to take a breath and compose himself. 

“Holy fuck!” Ed doesn’t give him any warning when he sloppily licks his asshole, gathering saliva on his tongue to wet him throughly. “ _Ah_ …” His eyes screw closed and he presses his forehead against his outstretched arm. 

He can feel Ed smiling against him, which is obscene, and his mind goes completely blank as he eats him out in earnest, groaning in appreciation like it’s the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. It would make Oswald blush if he had any headspace left that was not focussed on the pleasure.

Ed is _too_ good at this, he seems to enjoy it as much as Oswald does, and it has him hurtling towards the edge already. 

“I’m going to come too quick.” Oswald gets out, and reaches down to grip his neglected dick. 

He whimpers in disappointment though when Ed disconnects from him and he can hear fumbling around. 

Arms shaking, he is about to look over his shoulder and him ask _what the fuck he thinks he is doing_ when he hears the familiar pop of the plastic bottle lid, and then jolts when the cold lube is dribbled over him, and Ed smears it around with his fingers.

“I can’t believe you kissed me in front of everyone.” Ed pants out, and circles the ring of Oswald’s ass with his middle finger before pushing it in gently. 

“It’ll just be another rumour no one, _ah_ , took pictures.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the delightful intrusion, but it’s isn’t enough, it isn’t what he really wants.

"They should have taken pictures, you look amazing tonight." Ed teases him. "You could have fucked me in front of everyone and no one would have dared say a word." He probably doesn't even remember half of what comes out of his mouth when he's worked up like this, but Oswald does, it can make him flush weeks later when he remembers it at an inopportune moment. 

When Ed pushes his ring finger too and crooks them to find his spot, Oswald jolts and feels his cock leak, rushing like a freight train towards finishing before they’ve even started. They’ve done this so many times now and he’s still like an exposed nerve to Ed’s attentions.

“Stop.” He reaches behind him and grabs Ed’s wrist. “Fuck me, just fuck me.”

“Okay.” Is all Ed can choke out as he slips his fingers from him, and Oswald prepares himself for him to fill him up properly.

Instead, he is surprised when Ed sits on the couch beside him and tugs on his hips, so Oswald is kneeling over him. 

Oswald smiles at his initiative and is glad he can see Ed’s face, with his glasses slightly askew, his bottom lip between his teeth, and looking down at himself, ready for Oswald to sink down on him. He takes him in hand for a second to line him up, and teases himself with the tip for a second to watch Ed’s eyelids flutter.

“Come on, Oswald.” His eyebrows knit together. “Please.”

There is no way he could ever refuse a request like the from him, and he sinks all the way down on Ed’s cock with a delighted, long moan.

He likes it this way sometimes, being in control, grinding just right when it hits his sweet spot and making Ed beg him to pick up the pace - he likes the way Ed looks up at him with hooded but bright eyes, sends him delighted, unabashed little smiles that make him feel desired and worthy of this. It makes him feel like he’s the one doing the fucking, even though Ed is the one inside him. 

Oswald sets a quick pace immediately, he’s needed this all day, he isn’t in the mood for slow. His eyes slip shut and he feels Ed’s free hand on his face.

“Look at you - you love this don’t you?” Ed is breathless, words pouring out of his mouth. Oswald whimpers and nods, grinds when he feels Ed’s cock hit that perfect spot that makes his own member leak.

“Yes, it’s all I think about.” He confesses, and takes Ed’s wrist where his hand is on his cheek and moves his head to kiss his palm.

Then he brings Ed’s hand to his mouth and puts his long ring and middle fingers inside, moaning around the digits as he sucks. Ed adjusts his hips so he can undulate up into him just right and Oswald feels himself being pushed closer and closer. 

He sobs out some kind of desperate noise around Ed’s fingers, and wishes he could have him in his mouth at the same time as in his ass - wishes he could just completely drown in him. Oswald releases Ed’s hand, and leans forwards to grab onto the couch behind his shoulders and pick up the pace, hitting that spot again, again, again.

“Kiss me.” He hears Ed’s breath ghosts his lips, his own voice stretched and desperate, and Oswald obliges, gasping and groaning into his mouth as they kiss wetly. He’s about to tip over the edge, he can feel it, and he’s moving in quick little movements as Ed’s hands grip his hips and guide him, sharing each other’s grunts and groans.

Ed’s cock fills him so well, and he doesn’t even need to touch his own to bring him to the edge.

“Fuck, god, I love you.” Ed’s eyes are screwed shut and there’s an almost pained frown in the middle of his forehead. He’s blabbering, that’s how Oswald knows he’s about to finish as well. “You’re beautiful, I’d kill for you - I’d die for you - anything, anything you need.”

Oswald wants to respond to him, but it just leaves his mouth as a long, reedy whine as his eyes screw shut and he finishes spectacularly, ropes of come over Ed’s stomach and up to his chest, shaking and quivering under Ed’s hands, especially as one of them reaches down to jerk his cock for good measure. There are tears in his eyes as he cries out his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, _oh fuck_ , oh fuck.” Ed groans desperately. Oswald finish pushes Ed over the edge too, he grips onto Oswald’s ass tight as he pushes him down and holds him there to fill him up with his spend, and Oswald moans with sympathetic delight at the feeling. With effort, he opens his glazed eyes so he can see Ed’s face, mouth open, eyes focussed on Oswald’s body as he takes his release. It makes another shot of pleasure shock through Oswald, and he spurts weakly one last time over Ed's skin.

_‘God, he is stunning.’_

When Ed’s cock finally finishes pulsing, he relaxes, lets his head fall back against the couch and releases his almost painful grip. Oswald stays propped up on shaky arms, hoping he hasn’t permanently marked the leather of the couch with his grasping fingers. He sits on Ed’s thighs for a while, and they share heavy breaths and the feel of their sweaty skin pressed together, until his leg starts to ache.

Calming, Oswald kisses Ed’s lips gently before climbing off him, feeling the slightly uncomfortable leak when Ed’s cock slips out of him. He sits on the couch, pressed against his side, and experimentally takes his own softening dick in hand for a second to feel it twitch in sensitivity.

“Messy.” Ed mumbles, with a satisfied, utterly filthy smile on his face, looking down at the sticky liquid cooling on his stomach and chest. Oswald feels filthy too, in the best way possible, and kisses Ed’s bare shoulder. 

Ed looks good like this, sweaty hair curling on his forehead, lips kissed raw, and a tinge of pink across his sharp cheeks. He cuts a perfect figure when he’s naked, legs outstretched, long, lean stomach rising and falling and covered in Oswald’s come. 

“Now that we’ve got that out of our system, do you feel any differently about our little public display of affection?” Oswald asks, and finds his underwear draped on the back of the sofa, unsticking from his side.

He doesn’t much like walking around the apartment naked, unlike Ed, who is surprisingly unabashed with his nudity when they are alone together. Oswald doesn’t mind that, Ed has a _spectacular_ ass. 

This time though, it’s a little too cold; Ed replaces his boxers, and cleans himself off with a tissue so he can put on his undershirt. 

“No, you’re right, it’ll just be another rumour - like people saying you eat fish heads.” Ed chuckles, still a little winded. 

“ _What_?” Oswald snaps, disgusted, pausing as he collects the used tissue to throw in the trash.

“Oh, you haven’t heard that one?” Ed gets up and stretches out so his back pops. “It’s a classic.”

“People are imbeciles.” Oswald murmurs with a scowl, and adjusts to lay back on the couch, too tired to move just yet. 

_‘Fish heads? Do the fools think I’m some kind of mutant?’_

Outstretching his leg, and deciding he refuses to dwell on something so ridiculous, he checks the leather buckle of the brace over his knee and watches Ed cross the open apartment to the kitchen to chug some cold juice from the fridge. 

“Is it helping?” He asks from across the room, and Oswald knows what he is referring to. 

“Yes.” Oswald nods, it’s true; loathe as he may have been to start wearing it, the pain is much less sharp and frequent, and the leg feels more sturdy than it had been. No more falls. He almost wants to deny it just to avoid proving Ed right.

_‘He can be insufferable when he’s being smug.’_

Still, there are worse things to be smug about.

He hadn’t noticed Ed had sat himself at the piano until he hears the light sombre tones begin, and smiles to himself. It makes a warm feeling spread through his stomach, the sound of his playing, and he stands to go to the bedroom and put on his robe. 

It occurs to him sometimes how difficult it is to remember living alone: he never played music for himself, never really turned on the record player, ate at restaurants only, never cooked, never had anyone to talk to about his day, or about anything. 

The memory of solitude feels distant now, it’s grey and blurry around the edges, along with the kind of silence that stretches on for hours and hours when speaking to anyone isn’t even an option.  He hates waking up alone, and sometimes he can’t even look at Ed for how much his chest hurts when he really thinks on how much he feels for him and how painful he would find it to not have him there. That's why he tries so hard: to quell his propensity for irritability and insecurity that sometimes makes him vicious without meaning to be. He hopes Ed can tell he tries.

When he reenters the room, Ed is still playing, and Oswald sits on the bench beside him, nudging him to the side so he can fit there. He glances at him and sees his smile. 

“We have to go to that old Falcone orphanage tomorrow.” Ed says, and Oswald watches his long fingers pass smoothly over the keys, the movements second nature, fluid.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Oswald presses a key that does not fit the tune.

“Part of my job, Mr Mayor.” He says softly. Oswald likes him soft, it makes him feel like he can be soft too. 

“Then remind me _why_ we’re buying that place.”  


“Because, as Mayor, you need to appear to be goodhearted, benevolent, and philanthropic,” he continues to gently play, “and as The Penguin you have to buy out every bit of business with the Falcone name on it and completely eradicate it from Gotham.”

“I like that second part.” Oswald admits with a small smile. The Falcone’s are history, one he has no interest in Gotham remembering with any fondness.  
  
“I thought you might.”

Oswald rests his cheek on Ed’s shoulder, he no longer gets the dreadful feeling that he is about to be shrugged off anymore. 

“Perhaps it’ll pique your paternal instincts.” Ed eyes him in his peripheral vision, looking amused.

Oswald laughs. “Are you suggesting we pick out a child to adopt?”

“We would make very wholesome parents.” He says sarcastically, and Oswald thinks of them just the other day, presiding over Victor torturing someone for information and Ed's rather maniacal laugh. Wholesome indeed.  
  
“Of course.” Oswald says. Maybe in another world, he would not find the idea so ridiculous; but they live in this one, in Gotham, and it would take a very peculiar child to thrive under parents like them. A rich child though, and an intelligent one, after living with Ed for a week. Oswald has no idea how the process even works: could they return it if it turned out to be stupid or irritating?

“Maybe a dog, first, see how that goes.” Ed suggests; his tone is light, but Oswald can tell he is not fully joking. For someone who likes his world as orderly and immaculate as possible, Oswald does catch him looking at people walking their pets with fondness quite often. 

“Something small and low maintenance. I don’t need some slobbering bruiser.” Oswald says. “Nothing that sheds either, ugh, not after the money we spent on this furniture.”

“A chihuahua, then? I could get you a little bag to carry it around in. Very intimidating.” Ed says, grinning. 

Oswald scoffs and rolls his eyes, standing from the seat and crossing to large the window. Snow is starting to gently fall outside, and he all the more appreciates the heat from the fire that crackles in the middle of the room and the sound of Ed playing. Gotham had always looked better in the snow, it covered the dark and polluted streets and gave it a veneer of sparkling purity that Oswald had always rather enjoyed.

He can remember so well his mother wrapping a scarf around him and pulling it up to his nose, he can smell the mothball scent of it and hear her warning him not to put stones in the snowballs again, lest he get himself expelled from school. 

Looking back at Ed, he thinks he might just surprise him with a dog, if the snow gets heavy enough and the rest of the city is hiding its sins, maybe they _can_ pretend be a wholesome little family, even if just until the winter is over. 

*** *** *** ***

**Author's Note:**

> Next instalment might be a little meatier/plot-ier/drama-ier but I just wanted to get a little fun one out that's been floating around my head. Drop me some kudos if ya liked it, it nourishes me. 
> 
> Come chat to me too!
> 
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main)  
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


End file.
